This Ain't The Summer of Love
by smallunderthesky
Summary: It's just another salt and burn for the Winchester brothers. But every now and again, something unexpected is bound to happen. Rated M for language and violence. Spoilers for 2x01 and possibly a minor one for 2x02, 2x05 and 2x06. The final chapter is up.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** This Ain't The Summer of Love  
**Genre & characters:** gen; Sam, Dean, ofc, omc (no pairings)  
**Warnings:** violence, language.  
**Spoilers:** for 2x01 and possibly very minor ones for 2x02, 2x05 and 2x06.  
**Disclaimer:** the Winchester boys aren't mine, the others here are.  
**Author's note:** This takes place somewhere between 2x02 and 2x05. Betaed and nitpicked by erinrua who is nine kinds of awesome. This is my first long, plotty SPN fic, so feedback and concrit is highly appreciated. Title stolen from the Blue Oyster Cult. The story will have four chapters and I'm trying to get them all posted during the next week or so.  
**Summary:** It's just another salt-and-burn for the boys. But every now and again, something unexpected is bound to happen.

* * *

"So what's the deal with this haunted house anyway?"

Dean sounded like he had million other things in his mind and, as far as Sam knew, maybe he had. Morning was four hundred miles, another motel room and a sunset behind their back and only now, Dean asked what they really were chasing. Dean had listened his suggestion about their next hunt and stated '_Let's go_' after his exposition starting with '_Well, there's this farm in Ohio_'. Sam wondered if there was a reason for Dean to be like this, if today was some anniversary he had forgotten, if something had happened to Dean or dad in Ohio, if-- Sam shrugged the thoughts away. It could be anything and knowing Dean, it could be simply that the last truck stop had served him decaf by mistake.

"Well, in the last twenty years seven people have gone missing and then turned up dead at," he glanced at one of the news articles just for show, he had memorized the details during the first hundred miles after their swift departure this morning, "the abandoned Parker farm in Ohio."

Sam summed up the article. "Apparently, they all were from out of town, their cars were found parked at the Parker farmhouse and their bodies were found inside. Two shots to the chest. And all the victims were killed on 14th or 16th of August. Like the one they found yesterday."

Dean had to think about it for a moment, but he was pretty sure that today was the 15th. "What makes you think it's our kinda gig and not just some weirdo serial killer?"

"Uh, the owner of the farm killed his daughter there back in the sixties. Shot her before he killed himself." Sam saved the best bit for last. "On August 16th."

"Okay, that's something. Flimsy, but something."

Sam glanced at Dean, who hadn't taken his eyes off the road during the entire conversation. He would've been more at ease with them driving up to the farm in the dark if they had had the time to hit the local library to further check up on things. But they had done salt-and-burns with less information so many times that they'd be prepared anyway.

---

She watched through the dirty, dust-speckled window as a black car pulled up the dark road and stopped in front of the house. Like on autopilot, she pulled up the sleeves of her hoodie and her right hand curled around the grip of her gun tucked in her waistband, stopping there to observe the situation. The two guys in the dark vintage car were looking at something --a map?-- with a penlight, and she thought that they might be just the ordinary tourists lost in the literal backwoods. Her senses sharpened when they stepped out and opened the trunk; her mind listed the ways she could get out of the house without them noticing. The back door seemed to be the only viable option, the other one was to find a nook to hide in so they wouldn't find her. 'Cause, yeah, it wasn't her house and she really shouldn't be sneaking around in it the middle of the night and there were two of them and only one of her.

From her viewpoint, she couldn't see what the men were doing behind the car, but when they closed the trunk she noticed both of them carrying shotguns and flashlights. The shorter man with less wild hair and sharper features gestured the other and stepped off the driveway, apparently going round the house. Which ruled out using the back door to slip out.

In a speeding second, she estimated her chances. The men meant business, whoever they were, and she had only the advantage of surprise against two obviously strong and prepared guys. The house was big enough to hide in, but not in the time she probably had left. Which in turn meant that she would have to surprise one of them to get out. She pulled out her 9mm, knowing that in theory she was good enough of a shot to possibly survive a stand-off, if it came to that. The problem was that the theory had gone untested so far and she really didn't want to start experimenting now.

---

Dean stepped behind the old cracked doorframe and gently tried the worn handle. The hinges creaked sharply due to lack of use, leaving Dean to bless the ways of honest countryfolk who had rarely felt the need to lock their doors. He pushed the door gently further and pulled his left hand back up to steady the rock salt-filled shotgun in his right. The beam of his flashlight sliced through the darkness as he swung the door all the way open. He pointed the beam first to the left side of the room --obviously a kitchen-- as he noticed movement on the right side behind the open door. The door slammed closed behind him and before he could turn the beam towards the figure, his reflexes had taken over and he shot roughly towards the shifting shadows. Whatever it was, it wasn't Sam and it lurked in a dark, haunted house. A small cry was emitted but Dean couldn't aim again fast enough and something hit him in the head --way too hard for his liking, leaving everything fade to black.

---

She hopped down from the counter that ran almost the entire length of the wall and kicked the shotgun farther from the unconscious man, not knowing how good she had actually got him in the dark. Just as she had decided to try to make a run for it, the other man appeared in the door way on the other side of the kitchen. His flashlight went straight from the heap on the floor to her, and she whipped out her own light to even out the playing field. The bright light now in her eyes prevented her from seeing anything besides the shotgun the stranger carried. Her gun had been trained on the doorway from the moment she had noticed the stranger but she hesitated to pull the trigger without knowing who these guys really were. Maybe it'd end up biting her in the ass one day, but she was all for asking questions first and shooting later.

"Drop the gun!" She tried to impose as much authority to her voice as possible. "Your friend is down and I'm one hell of a shot."

The quiet moment made her shiver, she had no idea if the man in front of her even cared about the other one or himself.

"Dean!" The worried shout came from the man behind the flashlight. When he received no reply, he addressed her, voice shaking just the tiniest amount. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, but I will shoot him if you don't put that gun down."

Her voice was almost unrecognizable to herself and her mouth was too dry to swallow the forming dread in her throat. She had planned to be out of the house by now. She _needed_ to get out.

"Okay, okay. I'm putting it down. Just don't shoot him." His voice was soothing and she almost wanted to trust him.

She watched the end of the double-barrel tip down slowly; her heart was racing and she was damn glad that it hadn't been more difficult than this. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked on her left. Her aim shifted towards this new threat and her blood ran cold as she realized that the man in the doorway also had his gun raised now. No way she could fight her way out of this one.

"I suggest you drop the gun."

The voice belonged to the man lying on his back on the floor, pointing a .45 at her, and reluctantly she let her gun slip from her grip. She set it on the floor and raised her arms in defeat. The figure in the doorway approached her now and kicked her gun across the room.

"You 'kay Dean?"

"Yeah." Groans followed as she saw the other man get up. "Why do they always have to ambush me? Couldn't they knock your sorry ass down just once?"

Both of them had now their flashlights on her; there was a moment of hesitation before the shorter man nodded sharply in her direction.

"Sam, check her."

---

Dean finally managed a good look at his assailant when she stood in the beams of their flashlights. She was considerably shorter than them, brown hair tied into a ponytail and she wore jeans and a worn hoodie that was one or two sizes bigger than her. Her head was turned away from the lights, but still she tried to peer at them through narrowed eyes; from what he could tell she looked to be in her twenties, roughly the same age as Sam. Cute in a way but not his usual type. There was deliberate caution in her moves, maybe even a silent challenge but she made no attempt to move from her spot. To Dean, she could've passed for a typical college student, especially if you ignored the part where she was lurking in an old abandoned house, knocking out any passers-by and pulling a gun at their faces.

When Sam stepped forward, her attention shifted to him. Dean watched the woman's posture straighten and she leaned away minutely when Sam invaded her personal space. Despite the fact that she didn't step back, he could see behind the defiant tilt of her jaw and catch a glimpse of the muted fear in her eyes.

---

The taller guy left his flashlight and the shotgun on the kitchen countertop; the man --being about a foot taller than her-- towered over her when he stepped in front of her before disappearing behind her back. The man, who the shorter one had called Sam, started with her shoulders, patting down her arms and sides, not looking for cheap thrills but still too thoroughly for her liking. Sam pulled the penlight from her pocket and set it on the counter next to him.

She lowered her arms a little and noticed the angry red marks on her right forearm where the shot earlier had grazed her. It didn't look like a typical gunshot wound. She had expected more blood and less burning. And possibly more screaming and dying.

"What the hell did you shoot me with?"

The beam of the flashlight danced up and stopped on her arm. The answer from Dean came immediately afterwards. "Rock salt."

"Huh, that's new."

She wondered why anyone would load a shotgun with rock salt and under the circumstances could come up with only one possibility. While she was mulling over the obvious implications, the huge palms had gone around her waist and down her legs.

"Sam, she's obviously not the..." the voice behind the flashlight paused and she sensed the man cocking his head, "one we're lookin' for."

The hands stopped on her ankles and she sighed as Sam pulled the blade from her right boot. Yes, definitely too thorough.

The light shifted to the Bowie knife and she saw the face that Dean made. It was something between surprised and impressed if she could read it right.

"So, who and why?" Dean inquired of her as he let the barrel of his .45 slowly drop down.

Following Dean's lead, she let her arms down and shrugged.

"Name's Cath and my business is my business."

"Well, _Cath_", he enunciated her name in a way that hinted that he didn't believe it to be her real name, "you hit me hard enough to make it my business."

She took a deep breath and ran the odds again, hoping to find a way to non-answer him, but before she found the actual words, Sam cut her off.

"I saw you at the motel earlier."

Dean continued from there, after sharing a look with Sam, "So you're not a local and you're not a tourist."

He nodded towards the knife Sam was still holding.

"Might as well tell us before we call the cops."

"No, you won't."

She called their bluff and apparently, it threw them off for a tiny moment; everyone was quiet. Sam was first to break the silence and settle the dispute.

"Look, we don't want you to get into trouble but this place isn't safe. You shouldn't be here."

Dean shot Sam a stern look but kept quiet.

"And why's that?"

She was now fairly certain that they were there for the same reason as her, but judging by the look Sam just received, she wanted to poke a little further to get their dynamic figured out, to see what hunters usually do in situations like this.

Dean interrupted before Sam could say anything.

"Look, it just is."

She figured that Dean was the leader, barking out orders and getting the last say.

"Because of the spirit?"

Sam had a surprised look which he then directed quietly towards the older man. Dean ignored this and answered matter-of-factly, "Yeah."

"You guys can relax, no spirits here tonight."

"How do you know that?"

Dean sounded impatient, clearly not believing her and hardly accepting the fact that she just might know something.

"Research."

Sam piped in before Dean had a chance to reply. "So you're a hunter? Huntress?"

"On a good day, yes."

She got distracted by Dean, who had picked up her gun and was now studying it.

"I'll take that."

With a few steps, she was standing beside Dean, trying to snatch the gun from his hands. Dean held it back so she couldn't reach it and she settled with sticking her arm out. However, Dean removed the magazine before handing it over.

"You do know that you had the safety on? That's not how you kill anything."

She frowned, not happy with the fact that they noticed it. The clip disappeared in Dean's pocket and she decided to give up on it for the time being; she tucked the weapon in her waistband in the small of her back. If these two had that much healthy suspicion, they probably knew what they were doing.

"I don't have a habit of killing something before I know what I'm dealing with."

Now Dean gave her a look which she took as '_you've gotta be kiddin' me_' and then gestured at Sam. They stepped to the doorway --just out of earshot-- and obviously negotiated on how to handle the situation.

---

"This could be a trick, Sam. We don't know her. And she doesn't strike me as a hunter."

"Well, we could find out what she knows. If she's really done research. Hunter or not, she took you down."

Sam tried to suppress a smile but failed. Dean being ambushed by a girl was definitely good material for a few laughs.

"Shut up." Dean paused for a moment. "You actually saw her at the motel?"

"Yeah."

Sam watched how Dean kept an eye out for what she was doing --which appeared to be checking her wounded arm-- and then turned closer to him.

"Alright, we get back to the motel and check her story. But if she's just looking for freakin' Casper, I'm gonna shoot you."

"What! Why me?" Sam breathed out exasperatedly.

"For not shooting her."

Sam bit his tongue because he knew that Dean beat himself up whenever he got surprised during a hunt. He had done it as a kid when failure had felt like he had let dad down and he never been quite able to shake the habit. Sam didn't have time to chew the matter further because Dean was already talking to her. He missed Dean's question but caught her answer.

"I parked up the road."

"Here's the deal: we follow you to the motel, check your notes and go from there."

Sam wondered if Dean realized that he wasn't probably making friends with his condescending tone. He thought that they shouldn't piss her off for just in case; a fellow hunter would be a good ally.

Before he could explain the matter to her a little more civilly, she agreed confidently.

"Fine. Can I get my knife back now?"

Dean looked back at the kitchen counter where the six-inch blade lay and grabbed it by the handle, twisting his wrist half a turn to inspect it quickly.

"No."

Sam took notice of how she shook her head with frustration and exited through the back door. Dean cast him a look and it didn't take a genius to decode it; Dean was pissed. They had meant to scout the place for any obvious hints of the spirit and then cook up a game plan, but as things had turned out, the night was a complete bust. Dean handed him her knife and Sam wanted to --if not outright believe her-- give her the benefit of a doubt.

The familiar squeak of the Impala's door seemed loud enough to disturb the night when they got in. Dean started the engine and got them ready to follow her by turning the car around.

"You know that you could have been a little nicer to her?"

Dean huffed. "I'm here to do the job. Period. Not to make new friends."

"But if she was telling us the truth, she could help us get the spirit. I mean, she knew somehow that it wouldn't be out tonight."

"Could've been a lucky guess."

Sam opened his mouth to argue back but a dark car sped past them and Dean hit the gas in a way that signaled that the conversation was officially over.

---

The cars pulled up to the motel parking lot and Dean watched Cath jump out of the green Ford. She checked her arm again quickly and pulled her sleeves down.

Most hunters were men, but Dean had seen one or two women at the Roadhouse and it seemed that despite gender, the hunter attire was pretty much the same, a dangerous combination leather and denim. She was far from that image.

She stepped in front of them as they got out of the Impala. "My dad's in there, so if you could try not to shoot him."

Sam snickered at Dean with a '_hey I'm innocent and she was talking to you_' look and Dean gestured for him to shut up. Sam really had too much fun with this him being ambushed by a girl thing. Maybe he should let Sam go in by himself and get all the girl talk out of him. Preferably beaten out of him, if possible.

They walked two steps behind her and Dean checked the yard and the parking lot with a good, long look before they entered the room. There was no one outside.

"Hi, Dad." Dean could hear her as he got in last and shut the door. "We've got guests."

Dean did a quick inventory of the room. The walls lacked the articles he and Sam occasionally had up, no guns or books were visible anywhere, and the man that Cath referred to as her dad was an older guy, maybe close to his fifties, hunched over a laptop. Dean got no dangerous vibes from him either; the man seemed more white-collared than your typical hunter and the room was, well, normal. No way could they be hunters.

He heard her introducing them and decided to act nice in front the older man but ditch this party ASAP.

"It's okay, they know."

Dean's interest perked a little when she used the conspiratorial tone. He met the man's gaze a little flustered and hoped that Sam would do the talking.

"Sam and Dean, eh? You got a last name?"

Dean was ready to use one of the made-up names he had waiting for situation like these but Sam managed to share their real name before Dean had the time to stop him. The man got up and shook their hands.

"I'm Mike Bennett and I see that you've already met my daughter Cathy."

Mike stepped back after the formal introduction and Dean didn't like to be under the man's scrutiny like that.

"You boys related to a John Winchester?"

Sammy answered the question for him after a quick glance. "He was our dad."

Dean noticed how Mike caught the past tense and had a brief look of sadness on his face. For some reason the older man addressed him and not Sam.

"He was a good man."

"Yeah, he was."

He knew that Sam nodded somewhere in his right, probably looking at him like he was going to crack into million pieces every time Dad was mentioned. Sam changed the subject.

"Uh, Cathy told us that you're hunting that spirit out on the Parker farm. Could we see what you've got on it?"

Cathy turned to her father. "I agreed to show them."

Mike nodded and Dean watched Cath pull a laptop from under the bed and set it on the lone table. He and Sam stepped behind her watching her to open a bunch of files. She clicked through them and it quickly occurred to Dean that the spirit had been active a lot longer than they had thought. Sam noticed this also and leaned in closer to check the dates. Dean stepped back and let Sam's geekier side handle the conversation; he knew how Sam couldn't contain it sometimes.

"This thing dates back to the 60's?"

"It sure looks that way." She looked at Sam and then threw a look over her shoulder at him.

Dean knew that he should probably listen but then again, Sam listened close enough for the both of them and Mike was giving them the occasional glances which were too disinterested to be actually disinterested.

"So, Mike, this place looks a little too feng shui for hunters."

Sam gave him the '_dude, what the hell are you doing_' face, or maybe he just wondered how Dean knew about feng shui, so Dean replied with his most innocent look, '_what?_'

He was gonna soften the comment to get Sam untwist his boxers and to avoid the whole 'you could have been nicer to them' speech he knew Sam already had in store for him, but Mike cut him short.

"It's the 21st century. Besides the maid would stop coming if she saw the walls covered with crime scene photos and articles about dead people."

Dean had to smirk; the man at least had a sense of humor. Mike set his laptop aside and looked Dean straight in the eye.

"It's incredible what you can find on the Internet these days if you know where to look."

The look was somewhat unsettling but then Mike's seriousness melted into a smile and Dean, catching his drift, let the man have his moment. He sauntered back towards the table, stopping next to Sam and swatting his back with more force than necessary simply because he was bored and uncomfortable now. And annoying Sam was a way to earn cheap laughs and the patented Sam Winchester '_are you ever gonna grow up_' look which Dean purposefully ignored.

"Whatcha got?"

"Dean, there's at least thirteen people gone missing in the last 38 years." They knew of only seven, so this probably wasn't good news.

Dean's '_huh_' didn't betray his dislike for this turn of events.

"And Cathy thinks that there are actually two spirits responsible."

"Well that complicates matters."

Dean started a mental inventory of the things they needed to have on hand with the usual weapons. After running the list quickly, he addressed Cathy.

"How did you find that many victims?"

She turned away from the laptop and looked at him with a slight grin.

"Basic research. You guys do know about research, right?"

Dean ignored the jab completely. "We got only seven missing persons."

A small victory smile played on her lips which didn't relieve Dean's deepest doubts at all. She lost the smile.

"We've got our own software doing the data mining and analysis."

"And where did you get that? Ghostbusters R Us?" The sarcasm was evident in Dean's voice.

"Dean." Sam tried to keep Dean behaving; Dean knew that tone.

"We programmed it."

Her eyes were slightly narrowed, her voice was even, and more than her words, her attitude made Dean believe her. At least the part about the program, he still wasn't too sure about the part where they supposedly were hunters.

Dean shrugged his shoulders casually, smirking where the apology should have been and producing the magazine of her gun from his pocket.

"Uh huh. Are you sure you even know what to do with this?"

She skipped the verbal affirmative, stood up snatching the clip from his fingers and shot Dean a glare that reminded him of the look that Sam made when he teased him about his geekiness a moment too long.

"You wanna find out?"

---

With a quiet sigh, Sam wondered absently how Dean could always land himself in the most awkward situations, and whether it was genetic or just one his brother's many talents. He broke the stare-down by stepping between the glaring hunters and pulled Dean behind him before the situation could get out of hand.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day for us. We'll get out of your way now."

He elbowed Dean swiftly out the door before Mike could get in a word edgewise. The curling tension in the older man's shoulders hadn't gone unnoticed when Dean had insulted his daughter. The image reminded him of Dad just before he would break up their fights, but the memory brought Sam only thin comfort and hurt and he pushed it aside quickly.

Glad that Dean hadn't fought back about the leaving, Sam turned to Cathy before he retreated outside.

"I'd like to have a look at that program tomorrow if it's okay."

Sam made his best '_I'm so sorry_' expression to follow the request.

Cathy's shoulders relaxed visibly after a beat, fleetingly eyeing the door as if to estimate whether she could face Dean again. She even mustered a faint smile to go with her shrug and nod.

"Sure."

---

Dean had sulked for the last three minutes, cleaning meticulously the remnants of rock salt from the shotgun ever since they stepped into their room. Sam had the words ready, knowing that the same went for Dean and that whoever would go first would start an argument. _Fine_, he could play the bitch, after all that was his birth right.

"Dean, what the hell were you thinking? You almost decked the man's daughter in front of him!"

Dean whipped his head up from his task and let a fiery gleam form in his green eyes.

"Well, she shouldn't have kicked me in the head! A real hunter would've fought fair."

"So you rather she had a gun on you straight up?"

"I'd rather have her go back home and leave hunting to hunters!"

Sam took a calming breath, understanding where Dean came from. Demons and spirits they knew but people were unpredictable. And when something unexpected happened, it wound a cold knot in your stomach, compressing every fear and bad feeling into reality.

"So maybe she's not that experienced but she was doing the job. She had it covered until we showed up."

Dean pointedly tucked away the shotgun and the rest of the equipment.

"Yeah well, that's what separates the men from the boys."

Sam followed Dean's path to the bathroom with his gaze, knowing that after using all the hot water, Dean would be fine. Or at least less angry at himself and everyone around him. Maybe in the morning, after Dean had had his caffeine, Sam could try to reason with him.

---


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Warnings, spoilers, notes and such are mentioned in chapter 1.

* * *

"Fuckin' great," Dean muttered to himself when he spotted the short brunette walking towards the diner.

He had left Sam sleeping and snuck out to enjoy his mornin' coffee in peace but this seriously ruined his mood. His plate was still half-full of hash browns and the coffee was steaming. Not even a freakin' sip before the first bitching in the morning. What demon had he pissed off now?

Dean could hear her order a large coffee and a sandwich to go; he tried to look as uninterested as possible but it didn't help.

"Morning, Dean."

She slipped into the booth and sat down as if they knew each other that well. Shoving down breakfast kept him from answering, too bad.

He could be a patient man when needed but her sudden silence made him glance at her. The moment he acknowledged her presence she continued.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. Usually no one walks in armed like you guys when I'm checking out the scene."

She tried hard to sound nonchalant but Dean saw through the effort.

Dean eyed her and chewed down another forkful, not reaching for more. He wondered what she expected from him.

"I didn't mean it to go down like that. Sorry."

She looked and sounded genuinely regretful, unable to keep the emotion from her eyes. Dean was ready to accept the apology but she scooped up her breakfast and jumped up gracelessly before he could say anything.

Dean remained quiet when she turned around before leaving.

"Tell Sam I'll stop by in an hour."

The remaining hash browns disappeared from the plate as Dean watched her heading to the motel. Something was wrong with the picture. Yeah, he had been a little cold towards her --for her own good, though, not that she'd see it like that-- and he had suspected that she'd call him all kinds of colorful names. Instead, he witnessed an awkward apology and almost wished that she had made a scene; that would've made him feel less guilty.

---

The door of their room slammed shut and pulled Sam from his light slumber.

"Rise and shine, Romeo."

Sam's lids opened and he registered Dean stepping in and waving something resembling breakfast in his hands. He set it on the table and stalked towards Sam's bed looking a little too smug regarding the circumstances.

"You've got a hot date waiting."

A throaty groan escaped his lips when Dean suddenly yanked his sheet down a few inches. Sam grabbed the receding edge of the rough fabric and managed to glare at his brother who actually was in a good mood. A warning sign started blinking in Sam's mind --in disturbingly bright neon colors.

"Who died and made you the king?"

Sam sat up and hoisted his legs on the floor. Keeping Dean out of trouble was tiresome; he stifled a yawn with poor success.

"Dude, seriously. Cath's comin' to see ya."

"What? When?" His words were still coated with the remainder of sleep.

Sam looked at his brother intently, wondering how he knew this since last night he hadn't exactly made new friends. Dean shifted under the gaze like he knew what Sam was thinking and then masked the reaction with heading to the bathroom.

"She said she'd drop by in an hour."

The tension in Sam's muscles melted; there was no need to rush with clothes and breakfast. As he fought another yawn, Dean's head appeared in the bathroom doorway; the big, evil smirk pasted on his face could only mean more trouble.

"Though that was about an hour ago."

"Dean!" Sleep was now only a distant memory in Sam's mind.

Sam slung his pillow at Dean who had no difficulties whatsoever slamming the bathroom door shut before the soft missile even came close. He rushed his jeans on and dug through his duffel to get a clean shirt. Between buttoning the shirt and fishing the bag for clean socks, someone knocked on the door. Crap.

Dean emerged from the bathroom with a broad grin and got to the door just as Sam was barely presentable --sockless but not half-naked like some crazy-ass stalker.

---

"Hi."

Cath gripped her shoulderbag harder when she saw Dean in the doorway. She had hoped that he wouldn't have been here for this; the heads-up in the diner had had a reason.

"Perfect timing."

Dean's lips were curved into a smirk which she sensed wasn't directed at her. But Dean wasn't frowning at her either, so she tried to pay no-nevermind to it. He let her in and she spotted Sam on the bed farther from the door struggling to get a sock on.

"Hi."

At least Sam greeted her.

She set her bag on a chair, swept the most obvious crumbs from the table, careful of not knocking down the cup of coffee on it, and pulled out her laptop. Dean had already settled on his bed, reading a magazine the name of which she couldn't make out from that distance. The laptop powered up while Sam ambled towards her and reached for his breakfast looking slightly guilty. Cath pretended not to notice how Sam practically inhaled the sandwich while grabbing his laptop. In between sips of coffee, Sam copied the articles and a copy of her program through a flash drive.

They agreed to view the information about the current case before delving into the program he had asked to see. Sam continued sipping the rest of his coffee slowly, reading the oldest articles his research hadn't found. He got the reason for it after the first two cases, the rest of the stories only confirming his suspicions; the six killings they had missed had been pinned down as weird accidents or animal attacks although the obvious wounds --always two gunshot wounds to the chest-- on the victims had never matched the official cause of death. There was no mentions of anything supernatural in them, not even a word about the farmhouse, nothing to warrant any attention on their own; just another weird accident spree decades ago. Unless you counted for the fact that Temple Parker's brother had been the sheriff at the time. Sam wondered if the man had seen his dead brother in action, keeping the secret out of fear.

She could have told him that but Dean's watchful looks from behind the magazine kept her quiet. Trusting the word of a stranger in this business could have bad consequences, she understood that, but the constant watching earned her dislike anyway. She countered his hawk-eyed glares with setting her jaw firmly and focusing on the task at hand.

Sam hesitated a moment after reviewing the articles, and he glanced at his brother who concentrated on his magazine. Dean didn't even twitch and so Sam directed his words at her, not bothering to relay the news to Dean.

"How did you find these other cases?"

"Oh, it was the program we have."

She could have sworn that Dean snorted at that point but he just kept reading. Too intently. She ignored the reaction.

"How does it work exactly?" Sam's curiosity sounded genuine and more than compensated for Dean's behavior.

Cath opened the parameter file the program had used --not bothering with the actual code-- and explained how the search could be based on a location and refined with a time range and a possible frequency of the wanted hits. The program then scoured through various records, some of it public and legal and some not, and analyzed the hits to show if there was any temporal correlation.

She skipped the mathematics behind it but was delighted when Sam asked about time series and statistical analysis. Not often had she met someone on the road who not only knew the terms but some of the theory behind them. Her mood improved and she got more comfortable with the situation, forgetting about Dean for a while.

They hung up on an occasional detail when she explained her research process, but finally Sam had no further questions and she almost beamed from having a real, intellectual discussion. Usually all she had was her dad; the occasional hunters helping them tended to skip the talking and either treated her as a child or tried to hit on her the minute the job was done. Sam was a listener and she didn't mind at all. Dean, on the other hand, fitted the typical hunter mold to the teeth and ignored her.

She noticed Sam frowning slightly and couldn't help herself. He had this look like he was trying to piece a puzzle but something didn't fit. It was kinda cute.

"What is it?"

"Where did you learn all this?" Sam had a small smile playing on his lips, like he was embarrassed to ask her that.

Guess she had it coming. She had learned that personal questions always take her to a place she doesn't want to remember, to painful memories, truths, lies and pity.

"Took a few courses, read a few books."

That was the generic non-answer she had prepared long ago, delivered with a smile that hinted that the person asking was better off not knowing. The doubting raise of Sam's eyebrows reminded her delicately that he really was better knowing. She felt that Sam deserved more than generic.

"I do read. And Dad's an expert when it comes to programming. Guess it has brushed off."

Honestly, she hoped that the moment of silence would evolve into an awkward silence and then into one of those topics that everyone avoided. It didn't.

"How did you get into this? You don't seem like the usual hunters."

A sad smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She knew they did the job differently, sticking with the supernatural that had a steady pulse of death, something that could be found by crunching the numbers. However, that didn't make the spirits less dangerous. The occasional werewolves and other even more random evils were not easy targets either.

The smile vanished when she realized that Sam hadn't asked that. His inquiry went further still, straight to the parts of her life she didn't want to dig up for strangers. Not even for those with puppy-eyes. She tried to remember how her dad always skirted the issue, but it failed her.

Just as she was about to lie through her teeth and offer some explanation that wouldn't earn pity, she heard Dean. He had stood up and approached them. The action didn't quite register until Dean was standing beside Sam, a hand on his shoulder.

"Find anything useful?"

Oddly enough, he seemed to address the question to them both. Sam glanced at Dean and then at her with this small frown that Cath was beginning to recognize. She looked at Dean, silently thanking him for the interruption although she wasn't sure if he had done it on purpose. Something behind Dean's stare convinced her that he knew what he just did.

Cath recovered faster from Dean's appearance, though Sam had his inquisitive expression still on. She suspected that the brothers could have an entire conversation with silent gestures.

"I was about to tell Sam what I found about the spirits."

Dean sat down across them, lifting his feet on the table and leaning back in his chair with a sprawl that probably was anything but as comfortable as Dean's posture suggested.

Sam accepted his brother's presence and after a raised eyebrow from Dean, he led the conversation again.

"Yeah, you mentioned last night that there's two of them."

She opened the most recent file about the case and Sam followed suit, turning his laptop so that Dean could read it. She noticed Sam reading the file on her screen now so she angled the computer better before explaining the whys and where's.

"I found this," she gestured at her screen and towards Sam's laptop, "It was a year before the first victim." Dean made no attempt to read the article for himself so she continued.

"Anyway, the farm was originally owned by a Temple Parker who lived with his man-eating daughter, Linda. It seems that one night he caught her with some guy and was so unhappy about the whole thing that he shot the man. So, Linda tried again two days later and brought home another unsuspecting guy. Temple took it kinda personally and popped him as well as Linda. The last thing he did was blow his own brains out."

"Man, the guy was a serious kill-joy." Dean sounded almost amused and she turned to Sam to ask if he was always like that or was he actually useful sometimes. However, Dean cut her off with a more serious tone before she got a word out.

"So, the dude whacked two days ago was this year's first victim?"

Cath nodded, "Fits the pattern."

"And tonight will be the next?" Sam joined in.

"If Linda gets some unlucky bastard to go with her, then I'd say yes."

"Great." Dean lifted his legs from the table and leaned forward. "Where did she meet the corpses-to-be?"

Sam still scanned the article but managed to answer before Cathy.

"Apparently some people in town had noticed her hitchhiking on the main road on both days."

The look in Dean's green eyes was hard now. "And you're sure this isn't a woman in white or a succubus or anythin' else?"

Cath tried to match the look for the sake of her own confidence, crossing her arms on her chest for emphasis.

"I know a spirit when I see one."

The jagged edges in Dean melted and he leaned back in his seat. She blinked, wondering if he was really dropping the subject. In her head lurked a bad feeling that her assurance hadn't had anything to do with it, that somehow Dean knew what she had left unsaid.

---

Dean had seen enough people get protective and defensive over their secrets and weaknesses that he knew when to back off before things got ugly. This was such a time.

"Do you know where they are buried?"

Cath looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"On their backyard. Temple's brother kept the farm for a few years before he died in an accident."

He let out a small groan and wondered who'd want to have a bunch of dead people buried on their yard, no matter how closely related they had been.

Sam apparently read his mind and shrugged. "At least we know where to find 'em."

Dean stood up. "Hope you packed your shovel, Sam. We've got some diggin' to do."

He didn't miss the brief, meaningful glance Sam and Cath shared. He knew that an objection was coming, Sam had that look.

"What about Linda? She might get picked up before we're done. If she senses what we're doing, she could hurt the guy."

Cath continued the thought. "Sam's right. We need a diversion to take care of her."

The words leapt out before Dean had fully thought them through, not that he usually censored himself much.

"Hey, there's no 'we' in this. Not one that includes you." He pointed his finger at her for emphasis. "Me an' Sam got this covered. You can go back home."

Dean had to give Cath credit, she got on her feet and in his face quickly and in excellent balance.

"No. I've done the work so far and I can finish the job as well."

Her eyes flamed in anger but her short frame couldn't pull off the threatening bad-ass hunter.

"Bet you could."

Dean dismissed her, not even sure why he did it. The easiest explanation was that she would be an added burden; spirits could be tricky enough even when you knew that someone had your back. Babysitting her and chasing the spirit at the same time wasn't something Dean wanted to do.

"I'll follow you as soon as you pull out if I need to."

Sam piped in finally, playing the referee again.

"Listen, how about your dad comes too?"

Dean threw a pissed-off look in Sam's general direction, not wanting two people on his case about this instead of just one. But usually Sammy had some rhyme and reason to his ideas, so he didn't argue back. Yet. Cath was quiet, too, though Dean suspected that she just didn't want to argue with her new best friend.

"Dean, you could, um," Sam paused and Dean knew that he'd hate the idea already, "distract Linda while we salt and burn the remains. Three can dig a lot faster than one."

Okay, it wasn't that bad of a plan. It would be faster and Mike could babysit his daughter and keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

Cath's itch to fight had been toned down a few notches with that plan and so Dean gave a half-nod to Sam.

"Sounds like we have a plan then," she said. "Except my dad can't make it. He's working."

"He's on another hunt?"

Dean noticed the surprised tone in Sam's voice; finally he was doubting these people.

"No, he has a real job. System analyst. Usually he works remote but sometimes he needs to be at the office."

She stared at the floor defeated, before eyeing Dean carefully.

"But the plan's still good. I can cover Sam's back while you're keeping Linda busy."

There was just too many points to argue about for Dean to know where to start, but the plan itself wasn't that bad. If they could keep it as a simple salt-and-burn, she probably wouldn't give them too big of a headache. Besides, this way he didn't need to listen to her or worry about her showing up unexpectedly.

"Fine."

Dean reminded himself that Sam having a back-up wasn't a bad thing, particularly when the said back-up would have only rock salt and not bullets in her gun. And maybe, just maybe, she would be more of use than a burden. There was something in her past she didn't want to talk about and obviously questioning her abilities as a hunter made her twitchy. Dean really didn't like it when people a had a point to prove; it could easily end up biting you in the ass.

---

"What's your problem, man?"

Sam rarely saw Dean acting that hostile, especially towards non-supernatural females.

"Leave it, Sam."

Dean was checking their equipment on his bed.

"No, Dean. You've been on her case the entire time, just pickin' a fight when possible. So what if they're not like us? They're not beginners, either."

Sam barely registered the tick in Dean's jaw, which normally spelled trouble. He set the shotgun aside, and Sam knew his monologue was over.

"I get what you mean, Sam. I do. She might be able to handle the job or she might not, we don't know until we find out. And I don't want to risk your hide or mine just to find out which is it."

Sam didn't know what to say.

---


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Warnings, spoilers, notes and such are mentioned in chapter 1.

* * *

When she showed up again at sundown, no marks of her tears were visible. Usually, she didn't let the frustration out that way, but then again, usually she could prove her often-doubted skills with a shove and a fist and a glare. The language hunters used and understood. Without Sam in the room earlier, she would have resorted to it again. At least she didn't need to think about it tonight as she was supposed to help Sam when Dean was distracting Linda the hitchhiking spirit.

She knocked and Sam answered the door.

"Hi."

"Cathy, hi."

Sam cast a quick look over his shoulder. She suspected that he was checking up on Dean. The friendly smile on Sam's lips didn't falter a bit and he let her in. Dean was stuffing his bag with relevant items: salt, lighter fluid and shells for his shotgun. She spotted an assortment of other weapons and a pair of flashlights as well, but concluded that Dean had been in the business long enough to be rather safe than sorry.

Sam was also arranging his stuff so she just stood there watching the brothers. Cath had to admire the purpose in their every move and the methodical way they went through their bags, checking that they had everything, checking that the other one had everything. She just used a mental list, packed and knew that she had the entire list with her. And at the bottom of her bag and in her pockets were usually some random items she thought could come handy because she believed in being ready for the unexpected.

"Cath."

She was a little surprised to hear Dean acknowledge her. His tone was even although he made it sound like it he was giving her an order. If he was really giving her a chance, she was happy to prove herself. A chance was all she had asked --hoped-- for. She stepped to Dean's side.

"What?"

She hoped that it hadn't come out as flippant or angry.

"You got a first aid kit in the car?"

Dean gave her a quick glance sideways, still mostly concentrating on his bag.

"Yes."

For some odd reason she nearly called him 'sir'.

"Sam's got the rock salt shells for you."

His voice was low and calm and tight, like he was restraining himself. The collar of his leather jacket was up and gave him an air of danger. He zipped his bag closed.

"Sam, load this up."

Dean threw him the keys and handed over the bag. She observed how Sam asked nothing despite the slow look he shared with Dean. As soon as Sam was out, Dean turned to her. Cath stared back at him for a moment, waiting for the '_Stay out of our way_' or '_I'm doing this only because Sam asked me to_' but got neither.

"Just cover Sam's back and make sure the job gets done."

It felt like a hearing a big secret or an apology for earlier --maybe because of Dean's conspiratorial tone-- but there was a built-in threat in there also: if Sam got hurt, Dean would come after her.

Cath nodded quickly. "I will."

The second the door opened, Dean grabbed his shotgun that laid on the comforter and took off. Sam hovered in the doorway and Dean shouldered him on the way out.

"Jerk." Sam didn't sound angry and although Cath couldn't discern the words in Dean's reply, it was short and low enough to indicate that it wasn't anything serious. Just brotherly banter, she figured and felt a twinge of jealousy. It was the first time when she hoped that she would have a brother or a sister to share this life with. But it was much too late for that.

Sam hid his smile, hesitating for a moment but asking her anyway, "You okay?"

He was clearly a little concerned about whatever it was that Dean had said to her. As if his brother was a cannibal or something. Cath couldn't help the amusement seeping into her voice.

"I'm fine."

Dean had her puzzled. Disbelief, hostility, cold shoulder and suddenly something akin to acceptance. She knew that there was some logic in there and suspected that Sam was in the middle of it. Maybe there was something else but she couldn't afford to think about it right now.

---

Even though Sam had defended Cathy and been more willing to give her a chance, he began to see some wisdom in Dean's reluctance to take another hunter along. She had seemed nervous when Sam had dug up the rock salt rounds for her, her feet had been in constant motion tapping her heels against the floor. Now the car was void of any of the familiar pre-hunt routines Dean had; no lame-ass jokes, no fingers drumming against the steering wheel, no Zeppelin blaring from the speakers.

The trees lining the dirt road here and there created hulking shadows on the road, illuminated from above by the waning moon. Sam glanced at his watch. Dean had headed to the main road half an hour ago and they were now just outside the Parker farm. Cath eyed the rear view mirror periodically and drove trying to avoid kicking up any bigger trail of dust than was necessary; the fact that she paid attention to such details relieved the tension in Sam's shoulders by a degree. Things could have been worse.

They arrived at the farm and Cathy parked her Ford in the middle of the front yard, before the old decrepit house that stood a little crooked and had white paint flaking off. Sam hopped out first after he sensed that Cathy wasn't having second thoughts about this and didn't need a talk-through. They pulled out shotguns, shovels and a duffel packed for a salt-and-burn from the trunk. Sam instructed Cathy to take her flashlight and a shotgun while he carried the rest of their gear. The long, dewy grass parted beneath their steps and Sam let his flashlight sweep the ground farther out; his breath hitched when two slender but crooked crosses were revealed under the oak tree that looked like it had been planted to guard the dead. This was it, another hunt, no backing out now.

Sam set his light on the ground to cover the graves. Wordlessly, Cathy mimicked his moves, and grabbed the other spade and got to work.

The first foot of grass, roots and dirt was always the quickest to get rid of but never enough. Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead and when Cathy took a small break --switching the spade in her hands for a shotgun-- he simply shed his hoodie that was no longer needed in the chilly night.

Cathy was no match for Dean when it came to shoveling but she had a logic to it which Sam picked up fairly quickly. She let Sam work down deeper, while she got rid of the topmost layers and widened the hole to cover both graves. For the deepest points to reach two feet took them an hour which he considered a good result.

They took a quick break and drained a small bottle of water each. Sam could see how Cathy's chest was heaving from the hard work when she sat on one of the tree roots.

"I take it that this wasn't your original plan?"

He leaned on his spade and tossed the empty bottle near the duffel.

She looked up with a dry chuckle.

"Hell no. Was gonna pretend a government official and have someone else dig them up." She paused to catch her breath. "Walk straight up to the sheriff and be a real stiff. Plan B was to start early."

"Bureaucracy's always good."

He received a simple nod as confirmation and left it at that.

The sharp shrill of his phone was dampened by the jacket bunched around it, but the remaining volume was enough to make Cathy jump up and mutter a few curses for being so jittery. The caller id told it was Dean.

"Yeah?"

"Dude, I've got nothin'." Sam could tell by Dean's voice that he wasn't happy at all. "I could drive around with my eyes closed and not crash by now."

"Dean, we haven't reached the remains yet. You gotta keep your eyes open."

Of course Dean was bored after an hour on the same stretch of road, Sam knew how it was with him. Dean knew the routine, too, and sighed loudly in protest even if it was just for show.

"Yeah, I know."

Sam had some encouraging words to irritate the hell out of Dean but he didn't get the chance.

"Whoa!"

Sam had heard that particular exclamation so many times that he knew something supernatural was up and about.

"What?"

"I think I just found lil' Miss Linda. Man, she's hot!"

Yep, it was his brother alright.

"Dean, just watch out."

Dean didn't comment and next Sam heard the dial tone.

He dropped the phone in his pocket and grabbed the shovel. Cathy didn't have time to even ask what the call had been about.

"Dean found Linda."

They started shoveling with renewed vigor; Dean would arrive in half an hour's time and the bones weren't exposed yet.

Sam dug deeper in one spot to find out how much work they still had cut out for themselves. The dull thud sounded in somewhere between three and four feet and Sam honestly hoped that Dean's charm would work on the spirit so that they had more than thirty minutes.

Twenty-five minutes later, he had a foot left on the other side of the shared grave. He noticed that Cathy had given up on the shoveling and was just peeling off layers of dirt to the edges; her side had maybe about half a foot more to go than his. Their eyes met briefly and he understood that she was doing the best she could.

Sam's spade hit the coffin again, this time earning a more resonant thud due to the lessening of the dirt on top of it. He raised the spade in his hands to have another determined go at it, but before he could put serious muscle into the blow, he sensed that something was wrong. However, there was nothing he could do about the sudden steely grip on his shoulder, yanking him out of the grave and onto the grass. He fell hard on his back and a second later, Sam was eye-to-eye with the spirit of Temple Parker. His appearance was like any farmer's forty years back but his eyes were cold, dark and sunken to the skull which had a point-blank-ranged chunk missing underneath the wild, gray hair. Sam was about to reach for the man --the spirit-- to throw a punch but the image vanished with a gunshot.

Sam jerked up and saw Cathy with the shotgun and the first thing he could think of was Dean. The near-hate in her eyes, the set of her jaw, even the way she looked at Sam. And the fact that it lasted only a fraction of a second.

"You dig, I'll cover!"

Without hesitation, Sam picked up the discarded tool and started working. He shoveled the next five inches of soil away on pure adrenaline alone.

The easily discernible sound of the Impala's engine drilled through Sam's determination. He needed to get Linda's coffin dug out before Dean found himself playing peek-a-boo with Temple's gun. Ignoring the burning in his lungs, muscles and the abused shoulder, Sam continued the work in a rhythm that made his head spin. All he could see was the shovel, dirt, grass and dirt again. The Impala was closer now, almost on the front yard, when Sam's task was interrupted for the second time. Only this time the yelp came from Cathy.

Temple Parker's spirit held her by her throat so tight that her screams were reduced to hisses and moans. Her shotgun had dropped to the ground and her hands tried to pry away the death grip on her windpipe. Sam grabbed his shotgun off Temple's grave marker without stopping to think and fired a round with a dubious aim. Fortunately, his target was close enough to take a hit and dissolve into nothingness. Cathy fell down in a heap, gulping for air and holding her left hand on her throat while the right hand sought out the fallen shotgun.

Sam could see only from her alarmed expression what was about to happen. His reflexes made him tackle the dark shape on his left --one that had came from nowhere-- but the figure knocked him out despite his two extremely well-placed punches.

---

He would have recognized the gunshot anywhere; Dean knew that Sam was in trouble, but he forced himself to trust Sam, maybe even trust Cath, and he followed the pale ghost to the porch regardless of the cold ball rolling in the pit of his stomach. At least he had managed to stow his shotgun under the leather jacket without the bitch noticing. He just needed to distract it while Sam and Cath dug open its grave. The tall, dark-haired spirit opened the door for him and Dean wore his shit-eating grin perfectly.

---


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Warnings, spoilers, notes and such are mentioned in chapter 1. This is the final chapter and it's a little longer than the others. Reviews and concrit is highly appreciated.

* * *

An unnaturally firm arm had trapped Cath's head in the bend of its elbow. Fighting against the long strides and the cold pressure was futile as Temple dragged her across the backyard towards the house. Air barely reached her lungs and the shotgun had slipped from her fingers right next to Sam's unconscious body; the last remaining strength in her muscles was being dispensed in attempts to breathe.

"I can't let you do this anymore, Linda."

It wasn't the first time she had heard a spirit's voice but never before had they mistaken her for someone else like that. The tone lacked warmth and life and effort, it was a mere stating of a fact and nothing else. Her body tensed as the spirit pushed her through the back door. The dry wood splintered easily and she screamed as shards sliced into her arm that she lifted to protect her head.

Temple treated her like a rag doll and she acquiesced, hoping for a second where the grip around her neck diminished to get the Bowie knife from her boot. They stepped through the kitchen and crossed the hall. She tried to grab anything to slow down the menacing ghost but it didn't work in anything else but producing fresh bruises. The spirit climbed the stairs to the second floor and her legs finally found solid floor, but there was no room to fight back in the narrow staircase. When they finally reached the landing upstairs, she stood angled in a headlock and facing a door. There was an old revolver in Temple's left hand. She had no idea whether it had been there the entire time, but now it pointed at the door, which blew open with an invisible force that vengeful spirits mastered.

Two pairs of eyes turned quickly to them and Cath would have been more pleased to see Dean if he hadn't been tonguing a spirit. Although the shotgun peeking from underneath his leather jacket made her forgive him. And maybe the fully concentrated hunter look that Dean directed at her helped.

---

A moment of awkwardness radiated from the spirits when their eyes met but before Dean could capitalize it, the older man let out an angry roar and tossed Cath into the room. She stumbled through Linda's flickering form and bumped roughly into Dean's side but he managed to keep them both upright. Linda's spirit appeared fully back, now standing behind Cath, and looking royally pissed at the intruder. Dean noticed the wavering expression on Temple Parker; it appeared that he couldn't decide which one of the women to aim, so he turned the revolver at Dean.

"Oh crap!"

Dean ducked out of the way just in time and emerged from the corner of the room. The spirit vanished in billows of white smoke when Dean let rock salt tear into it.

Even as the shot still echoed in his ears, he saw the scuffle between Linda and Cath. The spirit had yanked Cath down and now they were both going at it in the best catfight style. Dean couldn't get a clean shot and for a second he wondered if he should just settle with watching since he hadn't seen a decent catfight in ages. However, he didn't need to wonder about that long as Cath bucked the spirit to her side, pulled out the familiar Bowie knife from her boot and took a stab at Linda's body. It was artless but enough as the body disappeared in wisps of white smoke.

Dean helped her to her feet, bracing the shotgun in his other hand and watching the room sharply.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean didn't care if his tone was a little too harsh, Cathy should've been watching Sam's back and making sure that he got the bones burned, not traipsing around to prove herself.

"Don't know. Bastard knocked him out cold."

Dean heard the rasp in her voice and didn't need to peer at her neck for the bruises in the low light to know they were there. Instead, he kept sweeping the room for Casper's evil family.

"The salt's not working, they come right back."

"That happens sometimes." Dean didn't care to go further into the subject. "We've gotta find Sam."

Her left arm flinched under his touch but he didn't let go, not until she was moving towards the door. The Parker spirits cut straight into their path, rematerializing from nothingness.

"Son of a bitch!"

Temple decked Dean and his trusty shotgun rattled against the floor when it fell out of his reach. When scrambling back up, he saw Cath ducking Linda's attack and getting in another stab with her Bowie. Daddy dearest still had the revolver, now trained on him. He was sure that this was it. Sam would have to finish the battle without him, continue on and pick up the normal life he had always wanted. The trigger was halfway pressed and Temple Parker was to be his executioner; somehow he had expected to go out in a bigger bang.

The firing pin never hit the bullet in the chamber. Instead, Temple Parker went up in smoke --again--, the revolver fell to the floor with a dull thud, turning into a solid, inanimate object instead of his guillotine. Cath's knife stood gleaming in the doorframe.

"Well that was close."

Dean shared a look with Cath and found it oddly comforting to receive only a shocked nod as an answer. After that, they sprinted into action gathering their weapons and heading for the stairs.

"Oh c'mon!" The Parkers were back, Temple standing on the landing below, and Dean's patience was wearing thin. "You've gotta be freakin' kidding me."

The tall, pale silhouette threw himself against Dean, who braced for the impact and hit solid spirit mass with the butt of the shotgun. The labored sounds of struggle and fists from above him told where the missing half of the undead Parker family was. After that, everything around him reduced to receiving and delivering punches. The spirit wasn't holding back its wrath anymore and slowly but surely, it gained the upper hand.

The spirit only seemed to take pleasure of the physical beating; a vicious chuckle filled the air when he threw Dean against the wall on the top of the stairs. The signals from Dean's limbs and torso mixed together like he had been ran over by a train. A litany of curse words went through his mind and Dean couldn't be sure if he said them out loud. Not even seeing Linda straddling and strangling Cath on the floor to his right produced enough adrenaline to jump to her rescue. An errant thought popped into existence, '_what if it was Sam_', but he couldn't muster the strength to get up. Parker stood in front of him, smiling ominously and moving slowly, like it had all the time in the world now. Maybe it did.

---

Growing up the way he had, Sam had learned not to deviate from a plan, not if it could still work and there wasn't a backup plan. So despite his desire to run into the house and see what was happening, he grabbed the shovel as soon as he got up. The throbbing in his head didn't leave him alone, but the sight of a missing Cathy and her remaining gun and the lack of the distinct low rumble from the Impala's engine made him dig with fury. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious but damn if he was giving up.

The moment when the shovel's tip hit wood hard enough to crack it, Sam moved away from the edge of the grave. He balanced himself with the shovel and rammed his foot through the rotting boards that made up the coffins. The partially decayed corpses gave off a foul stench but he barely even registered it. Quickly, Sam took the duffel, emptied the box of salt on the remains, poured a good measure of lighter fluid on top of them and lit them. He just hoped that it wasn't too late. The flames died peacefully while Sam was dashing towards the house.

---

Dean's eyes were on the revolver that Daddy Parker had picked up from the floor. The barrel pointed somewhere between here and forever when the spirit turned to look away from him. Dean heard the noise first and when he followed the spirit's line of sight to the flaming and blackening figure of Linda, he knew that Sam had done it. Which meant that he was alive.

Something akin to sadness and sorrow radiated from Temple Parker's face when he saw the spirit of his daughter disappear. Dean didn't care to guess why the older man still remained but he saw a window of opportunity which he intended to use. He kicked the gun from Temple's hand and then charged forwards with renewed vigor. They scuffled for awhile, hitting walls and Dean using his elbows and knees without doing the damage they would've done to a normal man.

"Dean, get down!"

The reaction to his brother's order was ingrained in his being. Just as soon as he dropped down, Sam shot the bastard.

"You okay?"

Dean was sure that he looked far from okay, but didn't bother with the smart-ass reply when the spirit could reappear at any moment.

"I thought you burned the fucker." His voice was rough and urgent and Sam helped him back to his feet.

"I did. There must be something else."

Sam looked at Cath, who was still lying on the floor next to the wall and then kneeled by her side. He tried to find a pulse and was greeted with a weak swat on his wrist. Dean watched Cath shaking the phantom pressure from her throat and attempting to sit up.

Suddenly, he realized what was still keeping Parker's spirit here.

"It's gotta be the gun."

He spotted the old revolver in a dark corner where it had landed after his kick, but before he could rush over to grab it, the spirit appeared. Dean knew that his muscles were very tired by now, but he struggled with the pale ghost, trying to keep it away and give Sam enough time to torch the gun.

"Sam, burn the damn thing already!"

His order caught Temple's attention and he threw Dean right into Sam. They landed on their backs and Sam was the first one up to stop the menacing figure that was drawing closer. Dean watched how Sam used that ridiculously tall frame of his to generate momentum that would have been enough to kill a man. Just not this one. The older man slammed Sam against the wall by his throat and pinned him there. Dean's legs weren't carrying his weight as steadily as he would've liked, but he reached the spirit and used every last ounce of strength trying to pull the thing off his brother. The bastard never budged.

---

The crashes around her had to fight through a killer headache to be recognized as sounds. A single flashlight on the floor illuminated the hallway but she was fairly certain that the reddish tint and black spots she saw didn't come from that. Looking up towards the sounds, Cath saw Sam throwing himself against the remaining spirit without success. She attempted to get up, but the black spots dancing in her vision multiplied and forced her to sit down; amidst the chaos her mind was trying to tell her something important. Her eyes fell on the old revolver next to her as Dean launched himself towards Temple's spirit. The voice in her head screamed a little louder. In a second, the pieces fell into place and she remembered what needed to be done.

Cath's hands trembled as she frantically searched the pockets of her hoodie. Finally, her fingers found the small bottles she had taken along for just in case. The cap twisted off easily from the other one and a pile of salt spilled onto the gun, leaving a trail to where the bottle rolled from her grip. She had no idea if torching the gun would work so she squirted most of the lighter fluid from the other bottle to the heap. While she pulled out the matchbook that had accompanied the bottles, she saw Dean trying to wrestle Temple Parker away from Sam with poor results.

Just as she struck a match to light the mixture of salt and accelerant, she realized that the gun probably still had bullets in it. If the fire would get hot enough, the bullets could explode, but if she wasted another second, Sam would be out of the game. Before she could make a rational decision, the match she held started to burn her fingers and she threw it onto the heap. Cath could only hope that the bullets wouldn't give any more troubles.

The flames surged high as the lighter fluid ignited and Cath was thrown back by the intense heat. The fire had only the accelerant to really fuel it and the flames died quickly down to more modest heights. She risked a look at the brothers and saw Temple Parker's face distorted with pain; the once solid body tensed, turned black and disappeared with almost an implosion. No white smoke anymore.

The fire had settled now and soot stained the metal. She stared at the final flickering flames licking the revolver clean before she slumped to the floor from sheer exhaustion.

---

Dean had insisted that he could drive the Impala back to the motel and that Sam drove Cathy back, even though she claimed to be okay enough to head back by herself. Although Sam wanted to argue with Dean about his current condition, he decided that it was easier to listen to Cathy's muttering than Dean's stubborn comments about being able to handle it. He checked the rear view mirror once in a while to make sure that Dean was still following them and glanced at Cathy as regularly. Her shoulder leaned against the door and she watched the changing views; Sam wasn't sure if something was bothering her or if it was just her post-hunt unwinding, so he left her alone.

The moon was now setting, illuminating the fields just above the tree line and they were five minutes outside the town when she broke the silence.

"Do you think he hates me?"

Her voice sounded a little broken, the words more whispered than actually spoken.

"Who? Dean?" He got a nod in response.

"He's," Sam paused to think about it. "He's a little wary of strangers, especially when it comes to hunting."

He glanced at Cathy to notice her gazing at him.

"He doesn't trust me."

Sam wasn't sure if was a question or a statement.

"You kinda have to earn it."

Sam formed a sympathetic smile, which Cathy acknowledged but she seemed to ponder his words.

Hoping that her next question wasn't if he trusted her, Sam let the second turned into a minute. When it appeared that she wasn't about to ask, he reverted back to making observations about Dean's driving.

---

They pulled to the motel a few minutes later and Sam hurried to give Dean a hand but got dismissed very quickly. Cath searched for the words to excuse herself and retreat back to her room, but Sam's large paw on her back ushered her to their room before she could protest. Once inside, it took only a second for Dean to flop on his bed, arm flung over his eyes, and somehow she felt that she was intruding. Sam's hand guided her to a chair and in organized fashion, Sam proceeded to throw Dean an icepack and grab the first aid kit.

Miraculously, after the beating they collectively received, her arm was the only thing that required patching up, rest of it was bruises and minor scrapes. Air hissed between her teeth in a deep, desperate inhale as Sam practically soaked the torn skin in antiseptic liquid. It burned like hell and she wished that she'd been alone for this, because the brothers would never take her seriously again if she couldn't handle a little wound.

"You okay?"

Sam's eyes had this '_you can tell me anything and I won't laugh in your face even if you admit that this hurts_' look going, but she ground out a rough '_mm-hmm_' and left it at that.

After the liquid fire, the splinters embedded in her arm were a piece of cake to handle. Sam managed to pull out all but one which needed to be cut out. Wherever the knife came from, it was so sharp that the half an inch incision was certainly more painless than Sam fishing out the last wooden shard. The white gauze Sam neatly taped to cover the trickling wound looked somehow final. It meant getting back to her life and her ways; things that she knew to appreciate after nights like these but things she hated sometimes for not being normal or, ironically, still normal enough not to be taken seriously.

"Thanks."

She got up quickly and let the room spin for a fraction of a second. After the room settled, she spied on Dean, who had only moved enough to set the icepack on the left side of his face; Sam looked at her with those damn puppy eyes.

"So, I guess we part here."

The boys were quiet, Sam checking if Dean had acknowledged her and his gaze lingering on his brother when Dean actually moved his arm to look at her. After the silent moment where Sam waited in vain for Dean to comment, she made a hasty retreat towards the door, hoping that Dean would say something, anything. The silence freaked her out, and it felt like one of those silences you get from a parent that says 'I'm so disappointed by your behavior, go to your room and think hard about what you've done'.

She cracked the door open and turned to look back. Luckily, her face still remembered how to form a smile and so she forced it out.

"It was nice doing business with you guys. Try to keep out of trouble."

Dean craned his neck slightly, still saying nothing, but maybe with softer features than before and Sam simply nodded in her direction.

"You too."

She stepped out into the dark night, the moon no longer visible, and crumbled into pieces inside. Near death encounters weren't her thing, which was exactly the reason why she usually had a back-up plan for her back-up plan.

Her dad had taught her that, '_Always have a back-up plan, Cat_', and mostly, they didn't even need it. When they did, her dad was there and they both knew what the other was doing and things never went quite like this. If things got really bad, they didn't talk about the close call afterwards and the 'I love you's were written between the lines when they tried to figure out what had gone wrong. And every time they would end up talking about mom. Now Dad was out of town and she sure as hell wasn't about to retreat into the empty motel room with only her thoughts to keep her company.

---

"Wanna go get a drink?"

Dean sat up on the bed, turning the not-so-cool-anymore icepack in this hands and tossing it at Sam to irk an answer out of him.

"Nah, man." Dean knew the accompanying look well. It was Sam's very own '_something's not right here, must fix the situation_'.

"Sam, if you wanna go talk to your new best friend, then go ahead, but I'm heading out."

So maybe he was a little on edge about the situation. Cath had left quite abruptly even though she had clearly been relaxed with Sam earlier while doing research. He wasn't about to make it his problem, though. The supernatural fuckers were dead, Sammy was alive, he was alive and even the third wheel was alive. A good night, considering the possibilities.

"Dude, you look like you just got your ass kicked. No chick's gonna go for that." Sam huffed and earned a self-satisfied smirk from Dean.

"You're just jealous that I'm the better lookin' one even when I'm beat up."

Dean could have sworn that he heard Sam's '_dude, you're impossible_' bitchface when he stepped out.

When they had first arrived in town, Dean had memorized the most notable bars, diners and other places where information came cheap. So he also knew that there was a decent bar just down the road.

Smoky haze hovered in the air as he stepped in. At first glance, he could tell that some of the guys took a longer look at him than they should've but not even the dim lighting could hide the swelling around his left eye. The jukebox moaned in the beat of Bruce Springsteen and Dean made his way to the counter, earning a few more looks and whispered comments. He had seen classier joints but then again he'd been in places where the music was all ABBA and guys didn't look like guys anymore. But that had been Sam's fault, anyway.

Two beefy truckers blocked a part of his view of the bar but Dean walked straight up to the barkeep and ordered a beer. Somewhere between tipping the bottle for the first mouthful and choosing a seat that had the widest view of the joint, he noticed that the seat was already taken.

Three glasses sat neatly in a row on the counter, the leftmost empty and the rightmost still full with what he suspected was Jack. She lifted the glass in the middle and threw it back in a way that made Dean think that Cath wasn't much of a drinker, or that she wanted the stuff to burn her throat. He couldn't be sure which. Dean chugged a quarter of his beer while deciding if he wanted to finish it alone, or if he should join her before anyone would come up to her and ask for a dance and the implied drunken sex. Oh, hell.

She set the now empty glass between the others, its rim touching them, and Dean quickly assessed that she was in here to get something more noticeable than just a buzz but less than a puke-inducing hangover. Somehow, the three pre-filled tumblers felt more like a hunter's routine than anything else he'd seen her do. Although having extra salt, lighter fluid and matches in your pocket came pretty darn close. He sat down next to her, setting his beer on the counter; her eyes shifted towards him but stopped before they reached his and her hand settled on the next drink.

"Sam is probably looking for you. He wasn't sure if you were okay." Dean tested the waters.

The silence between them stretched and Dean shrugged it off, deciding that if she didn't want to talk, hell, he could be quiet as well --which kinda was his original plan-- and just sit there with the feeling of being alive or just not dead yet. Fuck, he had done the brooding in a bar enough times after Dad disappeared, and before he had gone to get Sam, to know the disjointed feeling of hunting alone.

He wasn't waiting for her to say anything anymore and he barely even registered the way she kept turning the glass in her hand without drinking, so he almost missed her words.

"Who did you lose?"

There was no drunken drawl in her words, just quiet defeat and soft hurt layered underneath the casual tone.

Dean looked at her for a while, not even intentionally deciding to play stupid. He wanted to believe that she had forgotten hearing about Dad and that any other pain was too deeply buried for anyone to ever find it. Sammy knew it was there but he never asked and even if he had, Dean would have never confirmed it.

"What do you mean?"

He turned to look at her with an innocent expression that he figured had to come close to Sam's puppy-dog eyes if done perfectly. He also knew that he failed with delivering it.

"This," she gestured around with the glass, "isn't exactly a calling. Every hunter has lost someone, that's how you become one. Revenge."

She chewed out the last word and he knew that her theory held water. Partly relieved that she hadn't read him that well, he pulled on his mask of indifference, shrugged his shoulders and stated off-handedly, "My mom."

The confession burned deep in his heart, but Dean pretended it away like he always did. He took a swig at the beer and felt her looking at him, fitting this new piece of information to his character. Being under scrutiny felt uncomfortable, like he was eight years old all over again and Dad was yelling at him when their target practice had produced more shot-up fence than demolished beer cans.

"Me too."

He glanced at her, masking the action with another swig of beer. Her eyes were on her hands and she seemed to be picking a hangnail on her left thumb. After a brief contemplation, he stayed quiet, not offering his apologies because he knew how hollow they were and how much he himself hated them.

"What happened?" Her voice sounded soft and considerate, the apology whispered in every letter.

Her eyes were on him again, not assessing him anymore but searching for something.

"A demon. You?"

Dean didn't particularly like how his voice got rougher especially when his choice of beverage wasn't strong enough to warrant it.

"It was a spirit, nasty one. Had already killed five. It was after me and my mom but there was this hunter helping us. He saved me but mom died in the hospital."

The glazed eyes told him that she was fighting off the tears that came with bad memories. She took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. The words ebbed and flowed now, coming out more slowly than her usual pace, maybe a little slurred around the edges.

"Anyway, Dad made me stay with my aunt and uncle while he took off. When I was thirteen, he called me as usual. I didn't know what he was doing but he called me every week, made damn sure of that. So, one time he slipped the name of the town where he was staying and I ran away, hoping to find him. I did finally and he was in the middle of a hunt. I saw his notes about spirits, how to track them down, kill them, and realized what had happened to mom. I refused to leave until he promised that I could join him after I finished school."

She attempted a shrug and swallowed a mouthful of her third Jack. There was no trace of the tears left.

"So it's just you and your dad?"

"Yeah, mostly. Though he teams up with someone if he thinks the job is too big for the two us."

A hurt and angry look crossed her features. He could guess why. It was the trademark of dads everywhere to keep their children away from whatever they deemed the kids couldn't handle. Sometimes it just felt like being hit in face with a wet towel. Or a goddamn brick. Dean failed to smirk and finished his beer.

---

The alcohol started to have some effect on her now, the first two drinks finally dulling the sharpest edges of her senses, silencing some of the post-hunt stress. Dean ordered another beer, being nothing but a gentleman now, when she wasn't sure she wanted to see that. Cath tried to ignore the little flutter in her stomach, telling herself that having someone to talk to was better than a simple roll in the hay. No matter how long had it been from the last time. And maybe she had been wrong and Dean wasn't quite the typical hunter after all.

She rolled the tumbler in her hands, occasionally setting it back on the counter and shoving it at random directions to align it with some imaginary point. Dean's phone rang with the opening chords of a familiar song that she couldn't identify right away. She pushed and prodded the glasses in minute moves and listened in on Dean's side of the conversation.

"Yeah?"

It was someone familiar, probably Sam. Dean listened quietly for a while and glanced her direction.

"Dude, it's fine. She's here."

So it was Sam, all concerned for her welfare, apparently. Sweet guy really.

"Tell Sam I said hi."

She wouldn't have actually said it out loud if it hadn't been for the alcohol in her system. Dean obviously tried his hardest to ignore the fact that she probably sounded like a five-year-old, and although he managed not to roll his eyes at her, his expression was worth the little humiliation and she shrugged absently in response.

"It's okay, and she says hi."

She had no idea what Sam said but Dean ended the call after that.

---

She never finished her third drink, as simply sharing a silence with Dean was enough to pull her out of the thoughts she tried so hard to avoid. Being alone wasn't anything new but being alone after almost having been strangled to death really bothered her.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night and hit the shower." She hopped down from the bar stool. "Wanna walk a girl home?"

She managed to offer Dean what she hoped was a charming grin.

"What? You afraid you're gonna get lost or something?"

Dean offered her a smirk to go with the sarcasm.

"Or something."

"I'm pretty sure you could handle this 'or something'."

Dean waved his beer slowly and watched the liquid swirl in its glass container.

"Maybe, but I didn't ask you that."

"Fine."

The reluctance wasn't real, though, and Dean threw some bills on the counter before following her.

---

Dean figured that it wouldn't take much of an effort to sweet talk his way into her room. So she wasn't his usual type but then again he wasn't that picky. The bigger problem was that she knew things about him now, about his past, about mom, and he wasn't going to have a one night stand with someone who knew. So, he'd walk her to her room and then go beat off in the shower. It was just another one of those nights.

They walked side by side, sharing another silence which neither one was pressed to break. As they arrived to her door, she pulled out her keys but just held them in her palm.

"I guess this is it."

Her voice was low from the abuse and alcohol but Dean heard the faint sadness in it.

"Yeah."

He looked up and habitually checked out the parking lot before looking back at her. He didn't apologize too well nor too often, but maybe this time he could make an effort.

"Listen, uh, you did good today."

Her lips curled in a small smile and she nodded.

"Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it. You keep taking care of Sam."

After a nod to acknowledge her words, she slipped inside. As she flicked on the lights, Dean headed back to his room.

He found Sam sitting on his bed, the laptop propped on his extended legs. The temptation was too much for Dean to resist; sometimes Sam made it a little too easy.

"Updating your porn bookmarks there, Sammy?"

Dean didn't have to face Sam to know what look he wore. He smirked and vanished into the bathroom before Sam managed to notice that he came back early and without lipstick stains.


End file.
